A/N: I'm so sorry for letting this sit idle for so long! I don't know how frequent updates will be so please bear with me! It's about to get pretty dark. You've been warned and I'm so sorry. I don't have a beta so all mistakes are on me. Still don't own anyone you recognize.

Chapter 3

Mordred flew above endless windswept valleys, stretching his arms to their fullest and reveling in the feeling of sliding effortlessly through the driving wind. To either side of him him the last crumbling remnants of ancient mountains clawed futilely to the earth that slowly swallowed their long-broken strength. Exposed rock bones standing out darkly between a cloudless blue sky above and the endless emerald grass below. He flew on, sweeping over glass-still lakes and breaking their perfection by dragging a finger along the surface, scattering his grinning reflection along the rippling water as schools of fish fanned out in every direction. Swooping low over massive fields of vivid violet wildflowers to breathe in their faint, clean perfume as he passed. And endlessly the music repeated in his mind. That soft, husky voice singing to him of bravery, and strength, and patience. Of persevering through the hardship and coming through the other side, cleansed by the flames of his trials. The soft lilt and cadence of the words serving as their own drumbeat that pulsated in time with his heart. Driving him forward. Feeding strength into his very bones.

All too soon he saw his destination emerge from the swirling mists ahead. Banking slightly to the right with a deep sigh, he veered towards the concentric rings of standing stones. Tall and proud and perfect in the midst of the untamed wildness surrounding them. Interlaced lines and sinuous curves carved deeply into their surfaces. Prayers and praise to the Triple Goddess, here called the One Mother. At the base of each stone were offering to Her. Fruits and grains heaped at the base of one massive stone. At another brightly colored flowers and vines. At still another finely wrought jewelry of precious metal with glittering jewels inlaid. On and on it went as each of Her aspects was praised in turn. In the center of the standing stones was a large flat stone disk, devoid of decoration. With deep gouges cut haphazardly into the edges. It was there that he landed heavily, raising his head to the sky and screaming his burning presence to the empty countryside. His dance was complete. He was ready to start the battle anew.

Between one heartbeat and the next he knew he was awake, though the dream was slow to leave him. The freedom and wild beauty of his dream stayed in the forefront of his mind. As did the song and it's message of strength and patience. There was a faint orange glow behind his swollen eyelids which was the only indication of light around him. As it always did, with consciousness the pain came roaring back to life and he opened cracked and cut lips to give a weak moan that came out more like a high whine from an animal that had been hurt. A cup of weak broth was put to his lips and he drank greedily. Grateful for even this meager sustenance.

"Not too fast, Sir Knight," a harsh voice laughed. "Wouldn't want to spill this feast all over your fancy clothes, eh?" The hoarse laugh gave way to wet, hacking coughing before the man spit on the floor, mucus and spittle splashing up and hitting Mordred's leg where it lay on the filthy stone floor.

Mordred ignored the voice and the warm feel of the man's spittle sliding down his leg. Instead he concentrated on not missing a drop of the precious and life-giving broth. His armor and weapons had long since been wrenched from his body and he was wearing only a dirty loincloth. He winced in fresh pain as the chains that bound his hands, neck, and ankles rubbed against his skin and reopened partially healed cuts and scrapes as he drank. Fresh blood welling up thickly and slowly oozing from the wounds.

His keeper tsked in annoyance. "Those don't look good, Sir Knight," he mocked. "I'd better tend your wounds. The master will be ever so cross with us if you die from blood poisoning and he doesn't get to enjoy the pleasure of your fine company anymore."

It was always the same. They left the dirty wounds to fester and bleed overnight, preventing him from getting any truly restful sleep. If Mordred had been able to open his eyes he would have leveled his tormenter with a baleful glare. Instead the best he could do was shake his head in denial. If he had the strength he would have pulled together the ragged scraps of his magic to lash out against the man. But his tormentors clearly knew how to render magic users powerless. He suspected that the very broth he was greedily drinking was laced with something that was preventing him from using more than the bare minimum of his magic. He had thought long about it and his theory was that they thought him completely without power. And he wouldn't correct that misconception. They less they knew the better.

"Oh yes, Sir Knight. Yes indeed. You're to be gifted with another visit from the Master very shortly. Aren't you grateful for his kind attention?" The man cackled wetly in Mordred's ear. His hateful voice and fetid breath slamming into the knight and assaulting him anew.

Mordred couldn't stop another high whine from escaping, though he was loathe to show even that much weakness to the faceless monster with him. Neither could he hide the gasp of relief as a healing balm was applied to every wound on his body. The cool gel infused with the very magic these people loathed knit his flesh back together. A temporary state, Mordred was all too aware. The application took some time as there was hardly an inch of skin that had not been beaten, sliced, burned, or broken as his torturers had tried to get information from him.

But he had stayed firm. Not responding to any of their demands. Not responding to their sweet whispered promises of relief if he would only give them the information they needed. How many knights did Camelot have? How many of that number had magic? What defenses did the city have? Who were their mysterious allies? What treasures lay within the famed vaults under the citadel? Their questions were as endless as their jeers. Their taunts that Camelot had not come for him. That his King didn't even care enough to request his release. Mordred knew the truth. Arthur likely had no idea where to find him but by now surely knew that he had been captured. He knew in his heart that Arthur and the rest of his friends, his family, were doing everything in their considerable power to bring him home. What he needed to do now was endure and wait.

Mordred realized as he mused on how far the inevitable rescue plan had progressed that he had no true idea how long he had been held captive. He had counted the days at first. Though in the depths of the dungeon the only manner he had for telling the time was what he overheard from his captors. What he did know was that this would mark the fifth time he would be brought before the Master. Or was it the sixth? He would have to ask his beloved Sanity when next they spoke.

"There we go, Sir Knight," his keeper said with that falsely sincere obsequience. "All done. Aren't you grateful for the Master's kindness? Now you just relax. Your escort will be here for you any moment now."

The anticipation was a part of the game they played with him. Letting him know that he would be brought to the master 'any moment now' only for the actual time before he was questioned and tortured to vary wildly. Keeping him in an exhausting state of constant anticipation. Knowing that did not, however, make the wait any less terrifying.

The first time they had spoken Cait had nearly washed her hands of the stranger immediately. She was in no position to borrow trouble as she had more than enough of her own. She had barely made it into the city. Clinging desperately to the bottom of a vegetable cart. Cloaking herself in shadows and absolutely covered in the mud and dung the swaybacked horses had somehow managed to fling up onto her as they trudged down the muddy path that was the sad excuse for a road. She had waited until full dark before carefully unclenching her cramped hands and edging into a quiet barn. She had skittered up into the hayloft and dove into a pile of fresh hay. Here her stench would go unnoticed and the hay was the softest thing she had lain on since leaving Fortriu. She'd slept deeply and it wasn't until the following afternoon that she'd been awakened by a voice inside her head. At first she had thought it a strange dream. But eventually it had filtered through her stuttering awareness that there was another magic user somewhere in or near the city. And he was in trouble.

But her mission wouldn't wait for her to single handedly rescue some Knight she'd never met. Though it saddened her, his troubles were not and could not be her own. She had said a small prayer to the One Mother for him and prepared to block him from her mind. But then he had invoked the golden dragon of Camelot and she knew it had to be a sign.

She'd come south to learn all she could about the busy little Kingdoms that traders so often brought word of when they came to her clan. And as she had worked her way through the various Kingdoms she had learned terrible things, indeed. Many of the leaders here such as that wretched Alined and the terrifying Odin cared not for their subjects. They cared only for gold and their hatred of magic. Magic such as Cait's own.

She'd stayed in Essetir for two terrifying weeks. Using a fortuitously discovered network of dusty and obviously forgotten secret passages to move unseen through King Lot's castle and overhearing his plans to somehow band together with his like-minded allies to take down Camelot.

For these men Camelot was synonymous with pure evil. A place where wicked mages walked freely through streets paved with the gold that rightly belonged to Lot and his allies. Gold stolen with enchanter's illusions of miracles that could obviously not exist. Gold that his peasants spent going to pilgrimages to Camelot instead of paying his perfectly reasonable taxes. It all came back to gold for Lot and those like him. Gold and the hatred of the magic they had been born without.

There had been a few bright spots. Mercia, Gawant, and Caerlon had been a delight. And Nemeth had been a warm and picturesque place with kind and honest people ruled with love and fairness. These allies of Camelot were clearly well liked by their peoples and well cared for. As opposed to the pit of a city she was currently in. And she was in grave danger every moment she stayed in this place. She had planned to make her stay here as brief as possible. Until the Knight had invoked the golden dragon.

Mordred had no way of knowing what the golden dragon meant to her people. But he had claimed it as the symbol of Camelot. The same Camelot that traders in the past months had been excitedly gossiping about. A place where magic users were welcomed. A perfect land of milk and honey where all were welcomed to live in the endless bounty of the blessed kingdom. It sounded like complete rubbish and Cait intended to find out for herself after her mission here was completed.

A mission that had become more complicated when in the days after stealthily sneaking into the kingdom and hearing Mordred's voice in her head, she had learned that the King had closed the borders and that anyone attempting to leave would be killed on sight. And so she waited. Her reconnaissance interrupted by Mordred's call every day. Her sleep fitful as she pushed the Knight into a more restful dreamstate each night.

But the wait had not gone unrewarded. She'd intercepted a missive that gave her a sense of deep relief. An assessment of the threats of Albion to the king here. In it, her homeland had been given no name at all. And her people referred to as simply the barbaric Picts. Uninteresting, uneducated, and of neither interest nor concern. Rather than being insulted to see her people so dismissed she had nearly laughed out loud with sheer joyful relief. They were, for now, safe from the power-hungry lords of the South.

But Camelot. Camelot she was more curious about. Would they be a threat? A potential ally? And so in the guise of helping the Knight retain his mind she had asked him to tell her about his home. His friends. And he had been extraordinarily forthcoming. And over the past few days she had filled journals with her notes on this place. Her Mother would be thrilled with all of the information she'd gained.

So why was she still here? Why had she not slipped into the shadows and moved back north to her home? But she couldn't lie to herself. She knew. She wasn't going anywhere until Mordred was safely back home with his family. Thought how that would happen only the One Mother knew.

What had begun as simply gathering information from an easy source had become something much more. In joining minds with Mordred she had seen his pure and gallant soul. His humour despite his circumstances. In his evident love for him family, his friends, and his Kingdom. He was witty, and charming. As a Knight of Camelot she knew that he would be braw. After she had starting bringing him into the dreamstate she had seen what he thought he looked like. And even with his modesty skewing his image she knew that he would be bonny. Aye she knew why she was still here. Because she had found a man unlike any she had even known. And each moment their minds were joined was a bittersweet joy, tempered with the knowledge that they were both in very real danger and each minute could be their last.

As his tormentor closed and locked the bars to hs cell, Mordred deepened his breathing and sent out a mental call to his dear Sanity. For the first time he was answered almost immediately.

"I didna think to hear from ye again so soon after ye awoke from the dreamstate." She spoke with her honey and spirits voice. Affection and gentle chastisement in her tone.

Mordred could have wept in relief at hearing the familiar gentle brogue. As always it took him far from the dank dungeon and brought to mind warm firelight and lounging languidly upon plush furs while drinking mulled wine. "Sanity. My dear Sanity. I was worried you wouldn't hear me."

"I've told ye before, Mordred. Please call me Cait." With her strong accent it sounded to Mordred that her name was Keht. It had taken them awhile to work through the barrier of their accents, for all that they both spoke the common tongue.

"My dear lady I would call you the Goddess Herself if I didn't know her voice as well as my own and know that you are not She. You have saved my mind and should I ever escape from this place you will have me as your devoted servant for the remainder of my days."

Cait laughed softly to herself. Imagining the braw Knight following her around her home and offering to help carry the carcasses of the stags she felled and watching out to preserve her maidenly virtue from the advances of unsavory men. It was so ridiculous as to be laughable. But then again the thought of said advances coming from that same bonny Knight was enough to send a pleasurable shiver down her body. "There isna any call for all of that, Mordred. I've done naught but chat with you from time to time. Surely nothing any other could have done. You owe me nothing."

"Ahh but that's where you're mistaken, fair lady. For I owe you everything. And I will gladly deliver on my promise if you would just please make the trek to Camelot and let them know where I'm being held. Cait, I need this. I need you. Please help me."

Cait sighed and pulled the shadows more securely around her hiding place. Every day it was the same plea to find a way to get information on his whereabouts to Camelot. But she also knew that her presence in his mind was giving him the strength to endure his torture. She couldn't bear the thought of him slipping away while she was running away from him! "Mordred, I feel what every lash they put upon ye does to ye. Do ye feel that ye can withstand them if I'm no in yer mind with ye?" Oh dear. She hadn't meant to let that slip.

His shock and anger were palpable through their bond. "Cait. You can actually feel what's happening to my body? Why didn't you ever tell me this? I insist that you stop immediately! I know that I'm asking you to risk your safety for me but at least you won't be feeling torture every day! In any event, I insist that you stay out of my head while they're questioning me. I can't live with the fact that they're hurting you through me." He sighed and dropped his head to his chest. "Cait listen. Every day it's getting harder for me to hold on. You must see that. Please. Please get word to Camelot."

Cait closed her eyes with a sigh. There was really only one thing to say at this point and they both knew it. "Aye, Mordred. For ye I will try. And if I dinnae make it I will see ye beneath the shelter of the One Mother's arms." A tear slid slowly from a large brown eye at the thought of what she was about to risk. And what would happen if she failed. "Farewell, my Knight."